


warming up

by glitterjemstone



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: ?????, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst-Free, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Spin the Bottle, enjolras has a thing about touching, enjolras needs glasses, god idk what else to tag, thats in this too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 16:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12346062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterjemstone/pseuds/glitterjemstone
Summary: Enjolras has a thing about touching people sometimes. Grantaire seems to be the only exception.





	warming up

**Author's Note:**

> enjolras in this fic is largely based off me and my thing about touching.

It’s been a fact since the moment they all met him. _People_ don’t really touch Enjolras. Not at first.

When Bahorel had first entered the Café Musain, a hipster coffee place a mile from campus, Feuilly had introduced him to the group. Everyone took turns shaking his hand in a friendly manner; a tan boy named Courfeyrac and a Korean girl named Cosette even hugged him, as if they’d been friends for years. 

Everyone except Enjolras. Enjolras just looked up from his laptop, smiled, and said, “Nice to meet you.”

Bahorel took it fine, didn’t think anything of it, really, until a guy with dark skin and square glasses, Combeferre he’d said his name was, leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry about it, he’ll come around. Give him a few months.”

Bahorel looked at him, brows furrowed, lips quirked. Combeferre answered.

“Enj has a thing about touching people. Strangers, people he doesn’t like, people he doesn’t feel comfortable with. Most of us never shook his hand when we met him. But give him a few months to get used to you, and he’ll warm up to you.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Bahorel asked.

“Well, people who Enjolras never warmed up to ended up being… well, they ended up being jerks. Who hurt people in the group.” Combeferre looked thoughtful, and Bahorel could tell he was thinking of particular people. “Enjolras, for all he’s unaware of, usually knows what kind of person people are.”

Bahorel contemplated the statement, and then decided that he didn’t think he was going to hurt anyone in this group, and left it at that.

**

It was a few more months before anyone new joined their friend group. This time, it was Jehan who brought them in.

The group was gathered at a few picnic-bench tables in the back of the Musain, some of them, such as Éponine, Feuilly, and Bahorel, were playing card games. A few more, like Enjolras and Courfeyrac, were busy studying. Marius had his elbows on the table, deep in conversation with Combeferre and Cosette seated across from him, a plate of food between the three. Musichetta and Joly were leaning into each other, hands entwined, with Musichetta pressing soft kisses on Joly’s head as they spoke in hushed tones.

Jehan swept in with his light hair loose, a book in his arms, and a skirt on his legs, proclaiming, “Guys! Guys! This is Bossuet! He’s really great, he was working at the library’s book sale!”

Everyone looked up to see the bald man, who awkwardly waved with a sheepish smile on his face. Jehan smiled brightly and swooped into an open seat next to Marius.

“Jehan, did you… just take him from the sale?” Éponine asked, raising her hand.

Jehan looked affronted. “No! I invited him for coffee as a ruse to get him to meet you all.”

“Right, because that’s better,” chimed Musichetta, laughing lightly. Joly smiled as well, looking up at his girlfriend. Bossuet stared at them.

“I mean, if you invited him, he should sit, right?” Cosette said, scooting closer to Combeferre to make a seat between her and Enjolras. Enjolras didn’t seem to notice.

Bossuet shrugged and moved to take his place at the table. As he reached the bench, his foot tripped over Cosette’s, whose feet were tucked beneath the bench such that they stuck out the other side, and promptly tried to keep himself from falling by grabbing onto Enjolras’s shoulder, his other hand falling on the man’s leg.

The effect was immediate. Enjolras’s entire body stiffened, his head snapped up from his work, and he stared ahead, a harsh look in his eyes. Bossuet quickly removed hands, sputtering.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m really, really sorry, man I just tripped— I’m really clumsy, I—,”

“Don’t worry about it!” Cosette interrupted, lifting her hand gently in between Bossuet and Enjolras.

Across the group, Musichetta raised her voice. “Here, come on, we have room over here.” Musichetta and Joly, in fact, only had room next to them because Joly was perched on Musichetta’s lap, but Bossuet didn’t mind. He quickly made his way across the room and sat down with no accidents.

Quickly, the room returned to normal, Enjolras going back to his work after a few minutes, and Joly turned around on Musichetta’s lap to face Bossuet. “Hey, don’t think too much about what just happened. Enjolras is just weird about touching.”

“What do you mean?” Bossuet asked.

Musichetta spoke. “It just takes him a while to warm up to people. It’s nothing against you.” When she smiled, Bossuet swore even the sun turned to look.

“He’s not gonna hate me forever?”

Joly laughed, a sound Bossuet could only describe as warm and pink, and adjusted his round glasses. “Not at all. I’m Joly by the way.” He stuck out a pale hand as Musichetta reached into her bag, slung across the back of their shared seat. Bossuet shook his hand, and as soon as he let go, Musichetta squeezed a dime of hand sanitizer onto Joly’s palm.

“Don’t worry about this, either,” he said as he rubbed it in. “This is also a me-thing, not a you-thing. I’m a bit wary of germs. I start med school next year. You just came from a used book sale?”

Bossuet nodded.

Musichetta replaced the hand sanitizer and then stuck out her hand. “I’m Musichetta, Joly’s girlfriend. I’m okay with germs.”

**

Within the next few weeks, Bahorel started getting good-bye hugs from Enjolras whenever he had to leave a group activity early, and when Enjolras handed Bossuet a flyer, he didn’t flinch when their hands brushed. The rest of the group breathed a collective sigh of relief. Many of them had grown close to the newest members of their friend group, and were glad to see Enjolras agreed with their feelings.

At a Friday night get-together at the Musain, Cosette and Marius, finally official, wandered in followed by a man with dark, curly hair, brown skin, and a green sweater. No one really looked up from where they were all seated, talking until Cosette cleared her throat.

“ _Friends_.” She commanded attention. Her friends all glanced up, stopping when they saw the newcomer. “Marius and I asked our friend to come tonight! His name is Grantaire, he paints, and is in our Critical Theory class. Say hi!”

Most of them said a quick “hello”, a few of them calling out their names as well. Cosette looked at Grantaire expectantly.

“…’Sup,” he said. He had a mildly deep, gravelly voice. His eyes scanned he room, taking in faces, and stopped when he saw Enjolras. Enjolras stared back, briefly, before turning back to Bossuet and Joly, who sat next to him.

Grantaire turned to Cosette and her boyfriend with an eyebrow raised.

Cosette clapped her hands together. “Awesome! Now you can sit somewhere and meet the greatest people ever.”

Marius took his girlfriend’s hand and they went to sit near Feuilly and Jehan. _Great_ , Grantaire thought, _he was on his own_.

He found an open seat across from Enjolras, who was gesturing wildly as he said one thing or another. When Enjolras’s hand came his way, palm open, Grantaire high-fived him, grabbing his, Joly, and Bossuet’s attention.

“High-five!” he said. “I’m Grantaire.”

Within seconds, he got the sense he’d done something wrong. Enjolras, looking like an angel, was staring at his own hand like he’d never seen it before, and the other two were glancing between Grantaire and Enjolras, as if waiting for something, a nervous look on their faces.

Thankfully, Bossuet broke the silence, raising his hand. “Yeah, man! High-five, I’m Bossuet.”

Grantaire smiled and slapped his hand as well.

“Forgive me if I don’t high-five. I just don’t know where your hands have been,” Joly said, shrugging.

“Germaphobia?” Grantaire lifted his eyebrows.

“Mysophobia, if we’re being technical. But I’m Joly!”

“Nice to meet you, Joly.” Grantaire turned his eyes to Enjolras, who was still looking confused at his own hand. “And you, Apollo? Anything to say?”

Enjolras looked up, as if only just remembering he wasn’t alone. “My name isn’t Apollo,” he said, stuffing his hand next to him. “It’s Enjolras.”

“Angel?”

“ _En-jol-ras_. Not Apollo, not Angel." Enjolras huffed.

“Got it, _En-jol-ras_.”

**

It didn’t take long for Grantaire to realize how he’d messed up when he’d first met Enjolras, though no one really told him. It wasn’t too hard to figure out after a few weeks of knowing the group.

Enjolras had a thing about touching. And he had no qualms about telling people off when he was uncomfortable, even when it was people he’d otherwise been okay with touching.

For example, when Éponine had a party at her, Feuilly, and Bahorel’s apartment, a slightly-tipsy Enjolras had no problems yanking his body away when a very-drunk Courfeyrac tried to hug him.

“Not now, Courf,” he’d said to his friend. Courfeyrac had accepted it without question, turning and latching onto a sober Combeferre, who only looked mildly annoyed at that turn of events.

Another time, Enjolras had been aggressively studying in the Musain (Grantaire hadn’t even known it was _possible_ to study _aggressively_ ) when Joly took his cup of coffee, threw it away to the sound of Enjolras protesting vehemently, and set down a mug of tea.

“Enjolras, you need to take a break,” Joly said gently. Before Enjolras could open his mouth, he continued, lifting a hand towards Enjolras. “May I touch you?”

“No,” Enjolras snapped. Joly dropped his hand immediately.

“Alright. But will you promise me to take care of yourself if I leave? I have class in a half hour.”

Grantaire looked up from his phone. “I can look after him.” Because, honestly, nobody really trusted Enjolras to keep a promise like that. Better Grantaire volunteer than Enjolras break a promise to Joly.

Enjolras glared at him. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Grantaire leaned over and flicked Enjolras in the shoulder. “Sure you do. Someone’s gotta keep you from ordering a fourth cup of coffee.”

Grantaire tensed, waiting for Enjolras to say something about the flick, but it never came. Joly looked surprised, too.

“Fine. But you’re not my babysitter. Just do your own work.”

Grantaire grinned.

**

Enjolras had yet to tell Grantaire off for touching him. In the few months they’d known each other, they’d touched a few times, but Enjolras never said anything.

Once, as Enjolras was leaving a party early, claiming illness, though Grantaire knew he just didn’t like traditional college parties, he tried to find all his friends to say a proper goodbye, but only found Grantaire, Feuilly, and Bossuet.

“I’m catching a bus home, don’t feel well. I’ll see you guys tomorrow? Musain, maybe?” Enjolras said, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a true testament to how much Enjolras wanted to leave, because he hated making vague plans, preferring to lock things in with times, places, and people. His forehead was beading with sweat from the lights and the throngs of people.

Bossuet and Feuilly nodded in return.

“Text us when you get home safe!” Feuilly added. Enjolras smiled, clearly grateful that no one challenged him. For a second, he moved closer to Feuilly, appearing to go in for a hug, his arms already slightly raised, before he stopped short, letting his arms fall.

“Yeah, of course. Night,” Enjolras said simply, eyes turned downward. Grantaire still didn’t know the _pattern_ of when Enjolras was uncomfortable with touch even among those previously touch-approved by him. Maybe there wasn’t one, he pondered. Maybe some days just simply _were_ days he didn’t like touch, even from his friends.

Enjolras glanced up, making eye contact with Grantaire, who expected him to just turn and leave. He raised his cup, with some mixture of one alcohol or another, and nodded his head once.

“Have a safe trip home, Apollo,” he muttered. Enjolras’s eyes widened, oh-so-slightly, a move that would only be noticed if one was staring intently at him, as Grantaire was.

So quickly that Grantaire was almost convinced he imagined it, Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s neck in a hug, pulling back within seconds.

“Thanks,” Grantaire heard him mumble into his ear. Even as Enjolras walked away, Grantaire closed his eyes and imagined Enjolras was still here, arms around him. He still smelled him, a convoluted scent of sweat and a shampoo Grantaire couldn’t identify.

When he opened his eyes, his friends were staring at him.

“Explanation for that?” Bossuet asked.

“I have _nothing_.”

**

By far Grantaire’s favorite memory was of Courfeyrac’s annual holiday party (completely non-denominational, though there was a Christmas tree in one corner, but also a menorah on the coffee table, albeit flame-less, which was probably smart).

Grantaire sat on the lumpy couch that sagged in the center, Enjolras by his side. Enjolras was turned so that his side was leaning against the back of the couch and he had one leg pulled up close to him. His elbow was perched on a pillow so that he could sit his cheek on his fist. It made one side of his face smush upwards, which was, objectively, endearingly cute.

“But do you get it? It’s just so obnoxious. He, as a Government and Media teacher, shouldn’t be pretending he has no bias! We all have bias, we all have different experiences that shape our perspectives, and pretending otherwise—,” Enjolras complained, speaking of his most-hated professor.

“Yeah, Apollo, I get it,” Grantaire said. “Your professor’s a fucking idiot.”

“Why do you call me that?” Enjolras suddenly demanded, lifting his head up. “People shouldn’t be idolized through comparisons to a god. It just contributes to social hierarchies and fostering inferiority complexes.”

Grantaire laughed. “Okay— granted, good point, and like, you were definitely _godly_ to me when we first met but, okay, and don’t quote me on this, but the Greeks? They had a shit ton of stories about their gods, not all of them good. Like, their gods messed up _a lot_. Had a bunch of kids, were generally shitty to each other, chased lovers who never wanted them,” he paused, taking in his own words. _Irony_. “And were like, all around, _not too godly_ in the end. They were pretty human. The people who worshipped them seemed to realize even gods weren’t perfect. Gods could have humanity.”

Enjolras looked at him. And then he frowned. “ _Hmph_. I actually like that explanation.” 

“And you’re upset by that?”

“Just— _no_ , just kind of surprised.”

“Trust me, _Apollo_ , I know you’re human,” Grantaire said.

“I’m glad.” Enjolras shifted and let his head slip until it was basically resting against Grantaire’s upper arm. “What’s your favorite thing about doing art?”

This time it was Grantaire who was surprised, but he responded anyways. They went back and forth for a while, asking small questions to the other. Grantaire wanted to live in the moment forever, savoring the way Enjolras’s curls spread over his face and how quiet his own voice sounded when he spoke. As if the world around them was gone, and all that remained were questions about art, and cats, and favorite movies, and the song playing from the radio.

Around two hours before midnight, once most everyone had had a drink, Courfeyrac demanded they all sit on the ground, after which he produced and empty bottle, and everyone groaned at his predictability.

“What are we? _Tw—,_ ” Bahorel started.

“ _Twelve_? Is that were what you were going to say?” Courfeyrac interrupted. “You were playing Spin the Bottle at _twelve_? What kind of _heathen—_ ,”

They pretty much all gave in pretty quickly, because after the obligatory “are we still in middle school” comment, none of them felt too strongly on the matter, save perhaps Enjolras, who huffed loudly as he sat next to Grantaire. Their knees touched, a fact Grantaire _did not_ get butterflies over.

“Get over yourself, Enj,” Courfeyrac said. “We’ll have options for those uncomfortable with lip action. I’ll accept kisses on the hand as long as it’s done standing and followed by a waltz, and kisses on the cheek.”

Within minutes, Jehan and Joly had waltzed (the former being a romantic, and the latter refusing to kiss on the lips if wasn’t Musichetta or Bossuet), Combeferre had kissed Bahorel, and it became a rule that Bossuet could only be kissed on the head.

Enjolras received a kiss on the lips, just a peck, from Courfeyrac, but winced after, as if the touch pained him, and took his turn spinning the bottle.

Miracle of miracles, it landed on Grantaire.

 _Grantaire_.

He stared at the bottle, daring it to move even an inch and land on Cosette instead. It remained steadily aimed at his right leg.

Grantaire sighed. Rejection from Enjolras was imminent. He wasn’t in the mood tonight. He turned his face to look at the blond.

“You don’t have to do anything.” His voice sounded strangely devoid of feeling. Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows. Grantaire couldn’t imagine why his comment would confuse Enjolras.

“Nonsense. I agreed to play the game,” he said, and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Grantaire’s cheek. It lasted maybe three seconds before Enjolras pulled away, a small smile on his face as he looked at Grantaire. Despite himself, Grantaire’s lips quirked into a smile, too, and he could feel his face heating up.

Enjolras didn’t look one bit upset.

**

Things came to a head a while later, a few days after the New Year. It was late at night and, the Musain being a coffee place and not a club or bar, their friends had shuffled out to see where the night would take them. Other patrons of the Musain were also slowly trickling out, leaving Grantaire and Enjolras nearly alone outside of the Musain staff. Grantaire didn’t know why he hadn’t left yet. He was just scrolling through his phone, glancing up at Enjolras every few seconds, who was still hard at work on something or another. He hadn’t even seemed to register that he was nearly the last of their group left.

Grantaire coughed, grabbing his attention. Enjolras’s head snapped up.

“Oh,” he said. “Everyone’s gone.”

“Lost in your work again?” Grantaire asked.

“Really lost. It just— it all feels so important. Everything is going to matter, in the future,” Enjolras said. He wore a gray hoodie, the sleeves bunched up to his elbows, and his blond hair was tied loosely in a ponytail at the base of his neck, but more strands had fallen out than were left in the hair tie, framing his face like an oil painting. He couldn’t have looked more perfect if he’d tried.

“In the future, when you’re off saving the world?” he asked.

Enjolras smiled. “Yeah. If I can."

“Oh, trust me, if anyone is gonna do some world-saving, I have no doubt in my mind it’ll be you,” Grantaire said. He flicked his phone off, shoving it into his pockets. He shrugged on his jacket, and Enjolras seemed to take that as his cue to start packing up as well, putting his laptop in his shoulder bag and making his way towards the door. Grantaire followed behind him. Before Enjolras left, though, he turned to Grantaire, and put his hand on Grantaire’s arm.

“Thank you, Grantaire, for saying that.” With that, he pushed the front doors to the Musain open and walked into the cold air. Grantaire looked through the smudged glass, watched Enjolras get his phone out and text something. _Damn him_.

He was moving before he realized it, pushing the door open and reaching Enjolras in seconds.

“Why me?”

Enjolras looked up from his phone. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“C’mon, Apollo, I thought you were supposed to be smart.” Grantaire sighed. “You have a thing about touching people. Even people like Courfeyrac, you say no to sometimes. So why me? Why am I the only person I’ve never seen you shrug off or pull away from? Why do you let me get away with— with flicks on your shoulder, or why do you deny someone touch one second only to hug me goodbye the next?”

“I— I didn’t think you’d notice,” Enjolras replied, eyes widening. He put his phone back in his bag without breaking eye contact.

“Is it because you feel bad for me or something? Is it some pity project?” Grantaire said.

“No!” Enjolras stepped closer. “Why would I do that? You know, _you know_ , that I have no problem telling someone I don’t want to be touched. If I’ve never said that to you, then shouldn’t you know by now…”

Enjolras trailed off, looking lost. Grantaire’s eyes scanned Enjolras’s face, trying to find what he was missing. “Know _what_?”

“That I never mind you touching me, or me touching you. I’m never uncomfortable with touching you,” Enjolras told him. Grantaire never imagined conversations about touching to be this innocent. _Touching_ wasn’t an innocent word in his mind. But with Enjolras, it was.

Grantaire didn’t know what to say next. He glanced down. Enjolras’s hands were fidgeting. He wanted to hold them more than anything.

“Why?” He looked up. Enjolras stepped even closer, impossibly closer, to the point where Grantaire could feel his breath, deep and slow, coming from his chapped lips.

“Really?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire nodded. Enjolras licked his lip, making Grantaire’s breath catch in his throat. “Grantaire?”

Grantaire pulled his gaze away from Enjolras’s lips. His eyes were crystal blue, full of wonder. He was leaning up.

Then Enjolras’s lips were on his. They were kissing. And oh, _oh_ , this is what he’d been missing, what he couldn’t find before. Enjolras kissed hard, like it was a challenge. His hands came up, one landing on his shoulder, wrapping around him, the other reaching the base of his neck, where he gripped Grantaire’s hair. He sighed at the pressure, opening his mouth, letting Enjolras bite his lip.

Grantaire had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t know where to put his hands; he wanted to put them everywhere, because he was _allowed_ to. Right? He was allowed to. He ended up putting both around Enjolras’s neck, bringing him as close as he could, leaning into the kiss, taking Enjolras’s challenge.

“Enjolras—,” he breathed in between kisses. Enjolras said a small _“mmhmm”_ but other than that, ignored him and pressed kisses along his jaw, right where Grantaire had stubble, and _god_ , that was heavenly. He wanted to stay right where he was forever. He repeated himself.

Enjolras pulled back, smiling, his lips red and wet. _That was me_ , Grantaire thought.

“Do you get it now?” Enjolras asked.

“I think I do. But do you think we could maybe not do this in the middle of the sidewalk?”

“Where do you suggest?”

“How about we walk. And talk. And see where we end up?” Grantaire said, grabbing Enjolras’s hand in his own, relishing his soft palms and they way his fingers curled around Grantaire’s.

And so they walked in the direction of Grantaire’s apartment, with Enjolras leaning his head on Grantaire’s arm as they did.

“Have you ever looked into getting glasses?” Grantaire asked, smiling down at Enjolras.

“Is this going to be a joke?”

“No. You’re just always squinting at your computer when you read. It looks like it hurts, Apollo,” Grantaire said.

“I don’t need glasses! My vision is perfectly fine,” Enjolras insisted, pushing his face into Grantaire’s coat. His weight pushed them to the left as they walked.

“Tell me, do you get headaches when reading things from a distance?”

“You sound like Joly now.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

“I don’t need glasses!” Enjolras repeated, his words muffled.

“I don’t know, Apollo, I think I’d quite like to have a boyfriend with glasses…” Grantaire said. He was testing words.

Enjolras stopped them where they were, only a block from Grantaire’s place. Grantaire glanced at him, his possible-maybe-potential boyfriend.

“Well in _that_ case—,” Grantaire cut him off with another kiss, one he smiled into, before pulling away. He tried to keep them walking, but Enjolras held his hand firmly in place.

“What?” Grantaire asked.

“Nothing. I just really, really like you.” Enjolras grinned, and pressed a chaste kiss to Grantaire’s lips before he began walking again.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments and kudos are very much appreciated. also, will someone tell me how to write kiss scenes? i dont know what im doing.


End file.
